Ten Ways to Screw Up
by OccasionallyCreative
Summary: It was always Caroline Lee's job to organise everyone and anyone, since she was a child. Except, that is, herself.


_**Author's Note:** I wrote this ages ago, when I was first dipping my toe into the realms of fanfiction, so forgive any mistakes made. I only posted it onto AO3, but now I'm posting it onto here as well. This was inspired by Caroline Lee from "The Lizzie Bennet Diaries"._

* * *

**One.**

Caroline Lee has always made good decisions.

Just like it was Bing's job to help people, it was her job to organise.

In between her life as a socialite and her life as a proper businesswoman, she looked after Bing, ever since they were kids. Even made sure he was okay after the divorce of their parents. Made sure he felt nothing but alright; even if she wasn't at all alright herself.

So when their father abandons her brother in a crappy crèche at a zoo to spend time with his soon-to-be second wife yet again, Caroline's rage knows no bounds. She is only 10 at the time, but the screams and curses that fill the usually calm aquarium could belong to an adult. Other customers complain to the staff. Others swiftly move away, shielding their children from the breakdown of a young girl. Her father grabs her by the arms and sits her down, his eyes blazing with fierce embarrassment.

He's ashamed of her. And he's ashamed of Bing. He's ashamed of both of them.

Their father doesn't call the next weekend. His sleek red sports car doesn't pull up on the driveway. He doesn't exchange thinly veiled insults with their still hurting mother.

Caroline knows it's her fault. And when she visits Bing later that day to tell him the news that their father no longer wants anything to do with them, his shy smile and mumbled comment that he didn't want to see him that weekend anyway stings much more than his tears would've done.

* * *

**Two.**

It's only after their father's third re-marriage to a young and all-too-chirpy secretary and Caroline's graduation that their relationship starts to mend.

Of course, it's Bing who makes the first steps. It's Bing who obtains their father's number and it's Bing who convinces Caroline to face the man she had last seen in an aquarium, tears streaming down her face.

She wears her best dress, but it isn't in an attempt to impress—despite what lies she feeds her brother. It's a defence mechanism if anything. After all, as her mother once told her, _you can conquer the world as long as you look fabulous doing it._

Yet when she steps over that threshold and is engulfed in his familiar scent of expensive cigars and burgundy, she shrinks from a proper 25 year old businesswoman to the crying, abandoned 10 year old with too much responsibility on her shoulders.

They were meant to stay for the whole weekend. Caroline only makes it five minutes before she's running out of the door, hurling abuse at her father as she goes.

Of course, Bing is the one to apologise; to offer an olive branch. He is the one their father spurns out of spite, taking him and his luggage to the nearest rail station.

Caroline stays in a hotel for the weekend, and only picks up the phone when Bing calls her. He calls to forgive her, obviously. "Grudge" is not a word that belongs in her brother's vernacular.

It's that earnest forgiveness that causes her to do it. She's blind drunk at 2am in the morning, in a hotel she doesn't know, wrapped in a duvet that's far too hot. Bing's phone call echoes in her mind.

_"It's okay. It was… a gamble, one that didn't pay off. And Caroline? I don't blame you. I love you. Thank you - for everything you've done."_

The fact that her father escapes any kind of justice for yet another abandonment enrages her drunk, fuzzy mind.

She dials the number, but her fingers are clumsy. She tries again. Gets through.

The following conversation is tired, toxic, and vitriolic.

And by the end, neither father nor daughter want to see each other again.

And when the daughter slams her phone down, she curls up in the all-too-hot duvet and weeps. Not for her, but for her brother. Her too kind brother who forgives too easily.

In the morning, she decides she won't cry again. She won't make those mistakes again.

She won't let herself do anything wrong again.

* * *

**Three.**

Of all things she let her brother control; she lets him control his wallet. Right now, she wants to take that wallet and shove it somewhere where the sun does not shine.

Alas, she cannot. No. Instead, she has to organise the refurbishment of a house that she has never seen before, which is located in a town she hasn't ever heard of before, all because her brother had a particularly good day there one time. Bing + finances = catastrophe.

It's only a few days before he makes friends. The friends he's chosen aren't ones Caroline necessarily approve of. There's Jane. Too nice. There's Lizzie. Too snarky. Then there's Lydia. Just way too loud.

So when Bing announces his plan to throw a party at Netherfield, Caroline bites her tongue. And her cheek. She stays silent, glass of scotch in hand as she observes the rustic country folk stamping all over her hard work. It's almost a miracle that she doesn't scream with frustration.

Her only support system is Darcy, endearingly awkward as he is. She hopes they can do what they did at that god awful Gibson wedding. She hopes they can spend the evening being as anti-social as possible and exchange increasingly scathing remarks about the guests. (Or perhaps it was just her who had done the latter. The amount of alcohol she had absorbed at that particular event blurred her memories a little.)

But they don't. Darcy instead remains fixed. His gaze is intent on the middle Bennet sister. Caroline tries to bring something, anything out of him, but all she gets is a clipped remark about how fine Lizzie's eyes are.

So now she knows. Or at least suspects.

Her support system is gone, or is at least beginning to go. All because of the middle Bennet sister, a woman who wouldn't know what ossobuco was if it hit her in the face then did a little teasing jig.

It's almost midnight when the party begins to wind down. Lizzie and a sleepy (or about to pass out, it's hard to tell) Lydia depart at around ten to, but Jane—who so far has been curled up with Bing on the sofa just talking, and who exactly does that?—doesn't appear to be leaving.

It's the perfect time for a breather. So with a large, refilled glass of wine in her hand, Caroline slips out of the house and wanders down towards the low swinging bench left by the previous owners. She sits—well, falls really—into the plush patterned cushions and sips at the wine. She can feel her mind becoming ever fuzzier, but she doesn't mind. It'll allow her a lie in at least.

Darcy arrives not too soon after, and sits down beside her. His posture has finally relaxed, now that the two younger Bennet sisters have disappeared. Caroline represses the shade of envy that slices through her and smiles her best polite smile.

"Darcy," she says and quite uncharacteristically, she pats the space beside her. Boy, she's tipsier than she first thought. Of course, Darcy is ever the gentleman and doesn't say anything about it, not even when she begins talking a little too loudly and subconsciously moves closer to him. He only mentions something when she makes the mistake.

It's not the biggest one she'll ever make, but it's one that will probably haunt her. A couple of years from now, in the early hours of the morning when all her regrets are swirling around her head.

The mistake is a common one. A common one among people suffering from the potency of unrequited love. She leans forward and kisses him. She feels no response from him, not even of the negative kind. He doesn't shout at her, nor does he push her away. The memory of Bing's mumbled dismissal of their father's abandonment floats in the back of her mind. Why is it always in the most heart-breaking of situations that people are at their calmest? What she would give to have that ability.

"Goodnight Caroline," is all he says as he looks at her. No condolences. Nothing. Just a faint look of sympathy in his eyes.

Darcy leaves not long after. Caroline doesn't watch him go. Instead, she focuses on swilling back the rest of her wine and files the incident away. It'll be like it never happened.

* * *

**Four.**

It's a hollow victory, destroying her brother's relationship. It's good for him, he'll no doubt see that soon enough. Jane was only ever in it for the money. At least, that's what Caroline tells herself every time she sees her brother moping around their LA apartment, more absorbed in his studies than ever.

"Jane was only ever in it for the money," she tells herself yet again, under her breath when she's alone but the image of Bing, listless and going through the motions, runs through her head when she's at work. After a few weeks, she begins to believe it. And after those few weeks, the victory strengthens itself.

Watching Lizzie's videos helps too. They solidify her reasoning. Jane and Bing would never have worked. Lizzie left them far too exposed for their relationship to have any real foundation.

But happiness never lasts. She's getting ready for work when she clicks on YouTube and finds Lizzie's 60th video. That's all without a single problem. The introduction too. Not a problem with that. Lizzie is a little vaguer than normal, but that is of little consequence.

The rest of the video however is a little too problematic for what Caroline would like. Especially when Darcy shows up.

Many of Lizzie's viewers seem to be beyond hysteria with the opportunity to see Darcy. Caroline loses count of the amount of "ZOMG DARCY" comments popping up on the feed, but over the next few days, Darcy's words take to rolling over and over in her mind, poking and prodding at her subconscious.

"Lizzie Bennet, I'm in l-love with you."

_Two words of that sentence can so easily be replaced_, a small voice at the back of Caroline's head whispers.

But she knows Darcy. She knows that Darcy's mind is a fixed one. If Lizzie is the one he's chosen to fall in love with, then so be it. No amount of eyelash fluttering or veiled flirtation can sway him. And that little incident after the party at Netherfield, well… it wouldn't take a genius to figure out where that had left them.

She brushes away the feelings stirring inside her. Instead she calls for the car to stop and dives into the nearest bar. Wine. Wine solves all her problems.

* * *

**Five.**

It's a Thursday when Caroline receives the news. And she receives it via a fucking video blog from Lizzie fucking Bennet.

It's this one, the 92nd video of Lizzie's videos that she hates the most. The 60th is paradise in comparison to this. Caroline just about manages to hold on to her coffee, despite her desire to throw something very hard across the room.

She has seen her brother practically exhaust himself trying to get through medical school. Then, all because of a flutter of the eyelashes from a small town wannabe fashion designer, he rethinks his entire life plan?! He would never have done this before.

She's hearing the dialing tone before she's even registered tapping out his number.

"Hello?"

She wants to scream at him. She wants to verbally bash him over the head for being such an idiot, for throwing such a lucrative opportunity away.

Yet his voice is so earnest. It takes her back to her 10 year old self, the one who had to cuddle her brother close when their father abandoned them.

She can't do it. She simply can't.

So she bites her tongue. She tells him how happy she is that he's found something he's passionate about, and how pleased she is that Jane gave him a second chance. She wishes him well in New York.

When he calls off, Caroline finds herself typing out a message to some male friend she once shared a few too many tequila shots with.

_You free? Meet me at mine._

Alcohol is too weak a substance for this situation. She needs sex. Good or bad, she needs it.

The message is received with a cold dismissal: _You said we were done. Don't text me again._

She downs every last drop of the coffee she clutches as a small voice once again taps at the back of her mind.

"So everyone's moving on now," it sneers. "Everyone except you."

* * *

**Six.**

Her decisions, once impeccable and of good quality, are starting to slip.

She will never quite know what compelled her to jump on that plane. Hate, possibly. Fury? Maybe. Desperation? Definitely.

She bursts in on Lizzie in some one of her many costume theatre get ups, but she doesn't register the camera until a few moments in. Unlike the other times, it doesn't stop her from lashing out with her venom dipped tongue, and she throws out insult after insult.

And what does Lizzie Bennet do? She remains what Caroline has always perpetuated to be: calm and collected.

Her control is slipping. She needs to regain it. And so she steps out of the Bennet household, promising to have nothing to do with any of them for the rest of her life.

That particular vow lasts under a month. And it's Gigi who pulls her back in. Just one innocent little tweet that drags her back to the shaken feeling of losing control. A feeling that will only grow with time.

This video is worse than the 60th and the 92nd put together. The two people she'd thought she would never lose, the two people whose lives were always organised by herself are gone from her and forging their own paths.

And both of them had chosen to forge those paths with the Bennets.

Where was she? She was, is nowhere.

The nearest bar becomes her shelter. It isn't one she normally finds herself in, but it's the first one she comes across. The surfaces are made of rough, chipped wood rather than smooth granite, and the bartenders look like they spend much of their spare time knocking back shots of what they're selling. She however, couldn't give two flying shits about any of them. Right now, all she cares about is the sharp, bitter alcohol that slips down her throat.

She first senses the looming presence of a letch from across the bar. She doesn't see him, but she can already see him in her mind's eye. 40s. Bald. Cheap satin shirt which he clearly thinks he looks good in. Same old, same old.

The letch moves across the bar towards her, and Caroline finally deigns to turn her head. Through her blurred vision, she has to admit: the blonde hair is a surprise.

The voice she does not recognise.

"Hi. I'm George. George Wickham."

Okay, so she recognises _that_. She lets out a scornful laugh and swigs back another gulp of alcohol.

"Forget it." She briefly points to herself. "Caroline Lee. I know all about you."

Wickham flashes a grin.

"All the bad things," she adds quickly, making sure to add some extra emphasis on the third word. Wickham's smile drops to a scowl and he leans against the bar, huffing slightly.

"Seems everyone I meet has met William Darcy."

"Sucks for you." She gulps back another batch of alcohol, blinking a little. For only a few moments, Wickham says nothing, but his callous smile says it all.

* * *

Like the bar, the bathroom's cubicles are made of rough, chipped wood and engraved with various messages, most of them sexual and all of them vile. The atmosphere is sticky, thick with smoke and sweat.

Caroline fights back a groan as her fingernails delve deeper into his back. If she's lucky, she'll draw blood. His teeth clamp down on her neck in retaliation. She hates him, she reminds herself, but she cannot help but gasp as he pumps into her again and again, his hands being firmly placed on her hips and her ass. She crushes her lips against his. She wants to hurt him, punish him, bring justice to what he's done. Unaffected, he pushes her hard against the cubicle wall and fucks her harder. She's lost now, lost in the twisted sense of justice she is providing.

This is justice she tells herself as he spills into her and she screams out her pleasure.

It's justice if it doesn't mean anything.

And it doesn't.

It still doesn't mean anything when she leaves him stranded in that same grotty bathroom, not even as she makes her way back to her apartment and sheds her clothes, still reeking of sex; not when she lies in the bed and wraps herself in her duvet and curls her knees up to her chin.

It doesn't even matter when she realises that whilst everyone else in her life is forging a straight path, hers is circular. Hers is the one that's going nowhere.

She is the hopeless case.

* * *

**Seven.**

The depression has been creeping forward, inch by inch, for a long time now—before the Bennets, before the vlogs, even before Darcy. Yet she's always managed to keep it at bay.

She doesn't know it's reached her until she sleeps in late one morning, on the date of a meeting that her company has been planning for simply months. She was even specially chosen to lead the meeting as a result of her impeccable organisation skills.

It's an irony then that she's fired for being the exact opposite.

Strangely, she doesn't mind. She'll simply have to find another way to waste her days.

* * *

The days quickly become a blur. Sleep is what she does now. Her previously well looked after hair is a tangle of knots, and her dresses are waiting patiently in the wardrobe, showing off their expensive materials to nothing but dust particles.

Sleep.

Alcohol.

Sleep.

Wash. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

* * *

The door slamming open is what wakes her. The familiar click-clack of heels is what pains her throbbing forehead. Tight, cold hands grip at her arms and pull her up. Those same hands are cupping her cheeks and feeling her forehead.

The blurred vision clears. Her eyes stare back at her, but the face is more lined, the hair grey. She wants to fall back onto the sofa cushions and bury herself deep within them. Her mother however, isn't ready to let go that easily.

"You're destroying yourself Caroline," she says. Her tone is clipped. Caroline just about manages a shaky, weak line about a day off.

Her mother snorts. "I called the company. They said that you were fired little over a month ago. Why didn't you tell me? Or Bing for that matter. Surely you can talk to your own brother?"

"This is why Dad divorced you, you know," she says, sitting up and looking straight at her mother. "You're involve yourself in other people's business."

She wants her mother to shout at her. But her mother is too kind for that. Now, she just sits beside her and and sighs.

"I visited Bing recently. He's doing well. Jane's pregnant you know."

"Well good for him. For both of them," Caroline spits out, crossing her arms over her chest.

She doesn't know why she's acting like this, like a 10 year old, but it's pretty easy to guess why. Her mother sighs once more, apparently irritated. Her eyes however, speak a whole different story. There's a fierce desperation there. Caroline briefly wonders how her own eyes look. Blank, probably.

"I'm not saying you need to get married and have babies. I'm not that traditional. What I am saying is that, right now, I can see nothing but - a shell. And it - it hurts."

The words sting, but only a little. Caroline knows she's a shell. Pretty, but hollow and inevitably useless.

"Well then," she asks, arms folded, "why don't you just wave your magic wand and we can all go back to playing happy families, hm?"

"You know I can't do that, regardless of much I wish I could."

Finally, her mother is leaving. The door slams shut, and the sound echoes. It lingers for a little too long for Caroline's liking.

The words definitely hurt. Deeper than she'd like to believe. She knows she's a shell. It's only now that she realises she has been ever since that day at the aquarium.

She finds herself jumping up and storming out of her apartment. Energy is pumping through her, and she's knows exactly what's causing it.

It was only a matter of time before someone saw them, the cracks. She had tried so hard to keep them covered. She has to. Who is she to whine about her problems when her brother was so very happy? He had been so unhappy lately, and she'd been the one to cause it. She doesn't deserve his sympathy. Nor does she deserve her mother's.

She deserves... something.

Her feet turn automatically and she is jogging now, her tangled hair whipping past her and onto her face in the wind.

She deserves...

She is running faster. But she still feels nothing.

She deserves...

She's sprinting now.

She deserves...

* * *

The door to his apartment swings open. Some girl, petite with ruffled hair and bare feet, darts out and past Caroline, stopping only to flash a smile at her.

She can barely manage a smart remark, and there's a reason for that. She's exhausted. Exhausted of sad looks, of smiles that don't quite reach the eyes, and of words that cut much deeper than she thinks. He's leaning against his doorway now, arms crossed over his bare chest. His grin is flashy. Vulgar.

Caroline steps forward, over the threshold. The apartment is exactly what she expects: untidy, with a faint smell of sex in the air.

She expects he'll kiss her. He won't even wait until the bedroom. He'll toss her onto the sofa. Won't even wait for her to undress.

And the worst thing? She wants that. She wants anger, hatred and bitterness. She wants it so badly. His breath is warm against the nape of her neck. She turns to face him. Normally, she'd give the rules. His eyes tell her that the rules have already been made.

She embraces him, and his arms wrap themselves around her shoulders tightly. Too tightly. Affection this is not. Affection is not something she wants.

And so it goes that Caroline Lee falls into the embrace of one George Wickham and revels in the cool warmth he provides.

And as he kisses her temple and strokes at her hair with his fingertips, her mother's words are now nothing but a dull, bitter taste on her tongue that swallows up all of her other thoughts.

She deserves...

She deserves this, exactly this. She deserves nothing.

* * *

**Eight.**

Time no longer really exists. Neither does she, not really. If anything, she floats between days and nights, head throbbing as she consumes more and more alcohol. Her mother makes no attempt to contact her. It seems that their previous meeting was their last.

On some days, she will wake up next to George Wickham. And in some twisted way, she's thankful for that. At least she doesn't have to wake up alone anymore.

She knows of course that she shouldn't be thankful. He shouldn't even be in her bed. His number shouldn't even be in her phone.

* * *

There's a quick, eager knocking on her door. Opening her eyes, Caroline registers the time and her surroundings. George Wickham is slumped beside her, taking up much more space that he should be allowed. An empty condom packet lies on the floor, and wine bottles and two half-empty glasses rest on her desk. It's all evidence of the night before. The fact that she can barely remember it passes over her.

The knocking continues. She wraps herself in George's shirt and shuffles towards the door and Bing smiles at her when she opens it. She barely manages to return it, but that doesn't disturb him. Instead, he bounds inside, chatting and smiling brightly. Then he's still.

Caroline doesn't need to look at her brother to know that he is no longer smiling. Her brother watches as George slowly sits up and pulls on his jeans.

"Wow. Little brother storming in on the big sis." he chuckles, standing. "Awkward."

Caroline makes some kind of attempt to pull Bing's attention back to her, a vague call of his name, but it doesn't work. Within two bounds, Bing is at the bed and his fist has connected with George's jaw. Finally, after so many years, Bing's angry.

George stumbles back, but Bing doesn't give him time. He grabs at George's arm and pushes him out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

When he whips around, nostrils flared, Caroline's heart sinks and reality washes over her. The clarity of what's she done almost suffocates her. Of course it matters-it will always matter.

* * *

They will regret their words. Once their ire has cooled and the dust has settled, the both of them will always wish they could take this argument back.

As of now though, in this moment, with their blood pumping, the two of them mean everything they say, and it's in the midst of their argument that the change in subject turns from George Wickham to something much deeper. Something that cuts depths within both of them.

It's Caroline who casts the first stone. She spitefully confesses the drunken phone call to their father. Bing accuses her of using him as a defence. She claims he's too stupid to think for himself. Bing says nothing, but she continues—she screams at him about responsibility, about medical school. She even mentions Jane.

That's when he leaves, face flushed with rage.

She slowly sinks onto the bed, and her fingers trace the stained linen. The silence left by her brother ebbs and flows around her mind. She wishes she could run after him, apologise for what she's said, for what she's done, but she can't. Not now, not when he clearly doesn't want anything to do with her.

After a while, she finally moves. She strips away George's shirt and throws it into the bin.

She deletes his number.

She takes a shower, and blow dries her hair. She goes to her wardrobe and dusts off her best cocktail dress, slipping it on and zipping it up. It's surprising to her how secure she feels.

She empties the wine bottles down the sink and dumps them. The bed is quickly stripped. Soon, the sheets pound around the drum of the washing machine. Her best pair of heels slip easily back onto her feet.

Yet there's still something at the back of her mind, one niggling thought that no amount of overhaul can erase.

The thought that she's ruined the one relationship she always thought she'd have.

* * *

**Nine.**

Weeks pass, and August slips into September. Caroline comes back from a luncheon to find that a prettily decorated box is waiting for her, along with a postcard. It doesn't surprise her to find that it's from Jane, and she takes it up to her apartment to find that inside is a collection of food, small games and a small teddy bear. Strangely, it's the item at the very bottom of the box that intrigues her.

A pastel shade of blue, it's tastefully decorated with traditional font and a small silk bow in the top corner.

_Jane Bennet and Bing Lee would like to invite you to their wedding at Netherfield Hall, on 20__th__ September at 5:00pm._

It's perfect in every detail; just like Jane and Bing themselves.

She wants to go, of course she does. It's her brother—and he's marrying the woman he loves. Any sister would want to see such an occasion. The question is whether her brother wants her there. Especially after what she said...

The familiar ring of a Skype call pulls her attention away. It's going to be Bing; it has to be.

A smiling, almost glowing red-headed face shines out at her, and she sighs.

"I don't need your pity, Jane."

If she is hurt by the remark, Jane doesn't show it. She merely picks up a small pile of samples and holds them up.

"I only called because I wanted your opinion," Jane says with a smile and she flips through the pile, showing each sample to the webcam. "Now, what material do you think will be best? For my wedding dress I mean."

Caroline cannot help but scoff. "Seriously?"

"Yes."

"You work in fashion. Anything you pick will be fine."

"But it's always good to have a different opinion, don't you think?" Jane's eyes are so earnest and her smile… it's just so damn _genuine_.

She can't believe she's doing this. "The fourth one," she mumbles. Jane nods and takes a note. Caroline continues, her voice a little louder now. "Combine it with the second one."

Jane's smile widens as she puts the samples to one side.

"Thank you Caroline. I appreciate it."

Caroline offers a smile and hangs up, all in one swift movement. On one hand, she feels grateful to Jane for at least having the courage to try. She wouldn't have been able to do it, that's for certain. Yet on the other, she can't help but envision it in all its painful glory. She'll enter the church, head bent down. It'll last just long enough for her to feel uncomfortable, so she'll seek refuge in a dark corner of the reception room. Jane will eventually find her, and inevitably persuade her to join the party. There she'll find Bing. And she'll be running, running just like she did with their father.

She doesn't know why, but she clicks on Twitter. It strikes her how long it's been since she's used it—she can't even remember the password. When she does eventually log in, her guilt pricks at her. There are 10 direct messages. More than half are from Bing. All the others are either from Jane or her mother.

Lizzie's tweet is the first one that pops up on her feed. It's typically Lizzie: snarky, seemingly mundane and yet completely obvious.

_I should really start thinking about decorating that spare room._ And below that? A picture of a pair of baby shoes.

It's only when she gets on the plane, with her fully packed suitcase shoved into the overhead cabin above her that she realises how little she has thought about either Lizzie or Darcy until now.

* * *

**Ten.**

The ceremony is predictably perfect. Lizzie and Lydia are of course bridesmaids, the both of them wearing dresses of a tasteful pastel pink and both of them look beautiful. (No maliciously fluffy or frilly dresses for the Bennet sisters.) Jane is head to toe stunning, and as she heads down the aisle, her tiny bump is visible for all to see. Her mother is remarkably quiet throughout the ceremony, with only a few sniffles and tears becoming audible, but that ceases once it finishes. Now her voice reverberates around the reception hall, remarking on how she had always known Bing and Jane would last and how she was never worried for them at all. Her long-suffering husband has given up on trying quietening her and has now retreated to a corner of the room where he stands with Lizzie and Darcy. The three of them are smiling, exchanging conversation and light banter.

For a few moments, Caroline watches them, her eyes peering closely at Lizzie's belly, but it's as flat as anything. Anyone might think she was lying about her pregnancy, but the fact that Darcy is wrapping his arm gently around her waist and is being far more affectionate than he would ever be to anyone else is more than confirmation. Gigi meanwhile is in the middle of the dance floor, dancing with a dark-haired man (Caroline briefly remembers his name to be Sidney, apparently she'd met him when she'd moved to that small beach town [Sanditon maybe?]), and the widest of smiles are plastered on their faces.

It's almost sickening. They're all so _happy_. It's akin to watching a Disney film. Perhaps some cartoon birds will soon flit in through the window and start fixing everyone's hair and trilling sweet love songs.

Caroline knocks back another glass of water (she isn't going near any sort of alcohol tonight, or any night, for that matter) and she gets to her feet. Why she's doing this, she doesn't know. But she still finds herself striding across the hall and towards the small corner where Darcy, Lizzie and Mr Bennet have situated themselves.

It's Mr Bennet who sees her first. His wry smile drops a little and he whispers something to the two of them. Caroline can feel her polite smile tighten as she stops just in front of them.

"Great ceremony. I saw your tweet," she adds quickly, breathlessly. If she thinks at all about what she's doing, she might just turn on her heels and run straight from the hall. (A habit she's trying to break.)

Mr Bennet quietly slips away, leaving the three stranded in the realms of small talk. Darcy smiles thinly. So Bing has told him. She sips at her water once more.

"I'm glad," Lizzie says eventually. Her smile's there, but her eyes say everything. Namely, _I have no idea what I'm doing here, please help me._

Caroline gently flicks at the roof of her mouth with her tongue. It feels dry. "Congratulations."

It surprises her how much she actually means it. Darcy's smile relaxes a little, and he gives a little side glance to Lizzie, who beams at him and briefly sticks her tongue out. You can almost see the love hearts pouring from them.

Thankfully, they aren't ones for major displays of affection. (Knowing them, their inevitable wedding will just be in a registry office.) Darcy turns his head back to face Caroline. She notices his eyes settle on her almost half-empty glass.

"It's not alcohol. I thought it best to keep a clear head. You know, with it being my brother's wedding and all." If there's a joke in there somewhere, it's not immediately found. Darcy's jaw locks slightly as he nods once. Caroline rubs slightly at her temples. It's like she can fucking _feel_ the awkwardness. As if it's just this shadow of a creature, looming over her in its thin frame, leering with a grin on its wide lips.

"They're great together, aren't they?" Lizzie says. "Jane and Bing, they're—"

"I'm sorry." It's less of a considered apology but a brick, and one she has thrown right into their faces. Both Darcy and Lizzie blink at the surprise of her words, but neither says anything. Caroline steps back slightly and swallows. She just can't bring herself to look at either of them in the eye.

"I was an idiot. Geor—_Wickham_ hurt you both. I shouldn't have done what I did."

Still silence. Caroline still doesn't look up. In fact, the only time she does is when she feels arms hook around her neck and hug her tightly.

"Just promise you're done with him, okay?" Lizzie says quietly.

With some struggle (it's remarkably difficult to reciprocate a hug when you're holding a glass of water in one hand and a clutch bag in another), Caroline wraps her arms around Lizzie and the two women hug one another. It's brief but speaks eons.

When they step back from one another, Caroline risks a glance towards Darcy. He makes no move to embrace her as Lizzie has done, but the subtle relief in his eyes tells her everything. Tells her that he's on the way to forgiving her. She nods at him once and smiles, turning back around. She squares her shoulders and heads to the main wedding table.

* * *

She knows she planned to say something when she got there. But now, as she stands over them, her eyes find the pattern of the hall's carpet so much more intriguing. Being as nice as they are, Jane and Bing wait. (Or perhaps that's what she likes to think, perhaps they're just ignoring her.)

A good full minute crawls by until finally, she looks to them. She almost wants to laugh at what she sees. They're both looking up at her—Jane a little more eagerly than Bing—and both waiting for her to give them anything. A comment on the decorations, a standard form of congratulations… anything. It's like she's their mother bird and they're her chicks, waiting to be fed when really, in the real world, it's the other way around. She's the tiny, lost chick and they are the bigger birds, guiding her and pushing her along to the better, less complicated path.

"Great ceremony..." she starts, but that fizzles away. It's too generic, too simple for what she wants to say. But what she really wants to say isn't exactly suitable to a wedding environment. She tries again, gulping a little.

"I know this is your wedding, and I know that I really shouldn't even be here, but I… I just wanted to say…" Why the hell does she feel like crying? Bing's eyes narrow a little, and she's back, back to being 10 years old and softly telling her brother that their father doesn't want them anymore.

She stiffens herself, gripping tightly to her glass. Too tightly. The glass comes to pieces in her hands, shattering all over the floor.

It takes her a second to register that her hand is bleeding.

* * *

The fact that Jane and Bing's first bickering stems from who will tend to her is worthy of a laugh. They stand over her, exchanging words back and forth, while she sits on a chair, the three of them away from the main wedding party, and her pressing tissue paper into her hand. The wound isn't deep, but it isn't shallow enough to stop bleeding all by itself.

It's Bing who wins the argument. Caroline doesn't mention that she sort of wishes for Jane to do it. She might be able to reach the level of small talk needed if it was her. Jane is gracious in defeat and merely smiles, kisses Bing quickly and departs to attend to the other guests in the hall, pressing a reassuring hand to Caroline's shoulder as she goes.

There's silence as Bing sits beside her and examines the wound. He comes to the same conclusion as her: "not too deep, easily fixable." When she mentions she's figured that out already, he glances up and frowns curiously, in that little way that he always has done since he was a baby.

She raises her eyebrow, scooping her hair around her shoulder with her good hand. "You don't help your brother revise well into the night and not end up picking up some stuff."

His lips twitch at the sides slightly, but the full smile doesn't take. She doesn't expect it to.

"Yeah, well." That's all he says, right before he begins his work. It's a simple 'clean and bandage' job, but it seems to take ages. (It'll take her a few hours to perhaps hope that maybe he's deliberately being slow.)

The minutes tick by, and Caroline takes to glancing around the rest of the hall, watching the party. Jane has been dragged onto the dance floor by her two sisters. Appropriately, the song "My Baby Just Cares for Me" is playing. The Bennet sisters laugh and giggle with one another as they dance, the two of them closer than ever.

"Back there - you wanted to say something."

His speaking startles her a little. She nods once.

"I wanted to say a lot of things," she murmurs.

He swallows a little, his work finished but his fingers still clutched around her hand. "What were they?"

"That I…" she tucks a few stray strands of hair back, "I was sorry."

He stays silent at this. His fingers slip from her hand. That only encourages her, and soon, it all comes spilling out. Yet still he sits there, silent and seemingly stoic.

"I mean, I am sorry. For everything. For pushing Dad away, twice. For taking you away from Jane. I'm - just - I've screwed up. Ever since we were kids, I've… I've messed everything up. I mean, I've lost my friends, my job. But most of all, I've lost you. And I just—"

Tears stop her from continuing. They're large, gulping tears that have been long overdue. The funny thing is, she didn't realise she had even begun to cry. A strangled laugh chokes from her mouth, and she leans forward. Her fingers loop into the lapels of his suit jacket and she presses her head into his chest. She expects he'll push her away and scold her. Tell her how stupid she's been. Tell her how embarrassing she's being.

His arms loop around her shoulders, pulling her close. Gently, he strokes at her hair.

"You never lost me," he says softly.

Tears continue to flow, but he doesn't let go. Her cheeks are wet. Her mascara is smudged. The hurt is still there. It'll be there for a long time, she knows that.

It will heal though. That she knows too.

It's okay to hurt. Hurting allows people to grow, to move on. Bing has shown that. Jane has shown that. Darcy has shown that. Lizzie's shown it.

Hopefully, she will show it too.


End file.
